Both Got Split in Two
by infinityofthesky
Summary: AU, its been a year since Emma and Killian broke up.


**we both got split in two**

He feels like he hasn't taken a breath in months. Not properly, not with intent. He knows he's still breathing, he hears his gasping breaths, his sickly inhales, his lungs attempt to grab onto something that isn't there anymore. He knows he's still breathing because his throat burns from the air every time he thinks of her. It's been a year and it still comes rushing back to him sometimes, that blunt pain of her leaving. It's like an aching wound that never manages to heal quite right, it scabs over, it gives the illusion of being fine, but he always manages to trip and fall and bust it open once more, his blood spilling fresh and raw.

He still lives in their house, still has a photo of them on the mantle, still has the ring that sits heavy in his drawer. Some nights he wakes and it still feels like a nightmare so he reaches over towards her only to realize she's not there anymore, that she's gone and all she left was his demons and the cold bed where she used to lay. He dreamt of losing her often, dreamt that one day she would wise up and realize that she could do better than him, that she _should_ do better than him. But she would whisper her love in his ear and curl herself around him, pushing every morsel of doubt out of his body until he was lulled to sleep again. He had begun to believe that nightmares were only meant for the night.

It was when he was debating on whether he should get frozen sausage or bacon breakfast burritos that he saw her again. She was smiling bright and carefree while talking on the phone and examining the expiration dates on the 2% milk. She juggled a cartoon in her hand, smiling slightly, and he inhaled sharply, relishing in the way the air split apart his throat.

"Henry wants to be Chewbacca this year, says that Violet is going as Han Solo. Don't ask me why." She paused, slowly placing the milk into her cart, careful to avoid the vegetables, before she released a soft sigh, "I think he likes her as well. I'm hoping him dressing as a giant dog will deter any kind of relationship for a while. He's just a kid, he's growing up to fast."

Killian never understood why Emma ran from so much. He heard the stories, soaked in every word she said to him, but he never understood. He would never say anything, not ever wanting her to doubt herself, so he would just brush his lips across her jaw in soft reassurance. He had always believed in fighting for what you want, no matter how challenging, and the mere thought of running would always strengthen his resolve, that he wanted something so badly it scared him. But when he saw her squint her eyes together and let out a bright, sweet laugh was when he finally understood. Some things are just too painful to want.

He threw both burrito packets into his cart before roughly yanking it around and – "Killian?" She called, causing his heartbeat to become fast and erratic and his palms to sweat. He so desperately wanted to run but he was frozen in place, chained down and beaten to nothing more than putty in her hands with a single word. She called to him again and this time he turned quietly on the balls of his feet. She slowly lowered her phone when they finally faced, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes wide as if she was shocked to actually see him. Which, he thought coldly, she shouldn't be. It was a small town, surely she should of known that when she came back to visit she would have run into him somewhere.

"Um, Mary-Margaret, I'm going to have to call you back. Tell David I said hi and that I'll see him tomorrow. Yeah, 9 o'clock sounds good. Sure. Love you too. Bye." She stared at him and hastily threw her phone into her purse, not even looking when it hit with something in the bag and emitted a sharp metallic clang. She walked towards him cautiously, preferring to leave her cart by the milk, until she stood 3 feet away from him. She was so close his every cell felt like it was on fire and all he wanted to do was step forward and breathe the same air once more, the air his very lungs ached for.

"Hi." She whispered, a small and shy smile playing at her lips. It wasn't a real smile and he felt his heartbreak just a bit, knowing that just the sight of him couldn't bring one to her face anymore.

"Hi." He wanted to scream _I love you_ and he wanted to scream _why_ but he bit his lip and scratched awkwardly behind his ear instead, pressing harder than usual hoping that it would somehow keep him in line. He hated this, how they once fit so smoothly together and now it felt like even conversing to each other was like shoving a square peg into a round hole. They were never meant to be strangers making uncomfortable small talk in a grocery store, he had always thought the stars had written a better story for them than this.

"How've you been?" She scuffed her shoes slightly on the ground, eyes trained to her fingers and she gently rolled her hands over one another.

"I've been good. The old guy retired so they promoted me to dock master, the upgrade in pay has been nice."

"Oh yeah, I heard Blackbeard went treasure hunting instead," She chuckled lightly, almost forcing it out of her and, after a slight hesitation said, "Listen, Killian, it's been a long time and," she brought her head up and caught his eye, "I'm really sorry for the way things ended. I shouldn't have done it that way. It was unfair to you. If you wouldn't mind, I would love to meet up and talk things over."

His eyebrows rose swiftly, disbelief shooting across his face, before he schooled himself and, in a broken half-whisper, said, "Yeah. That would be fine."

Her smile was real this time, it ghosted across her face but he saw it and he almost cracked one too.

"I'm free tonight, if you don't have any plans. You can meet me at my house." He suggested, half-hoping she would reject him because he felt that, maybe, if he had some time to prepare, hearing all the reasons she left him would be less devastating. Though he had a sneaking suspicion that it would tear him apart either way.

"Yeah, I can come over at 7. Where is it?" She regretted asking the moment it came out as pain flashed across his face. He barely stopped himself in time before he called it their home but now, he realizes, that maybe she never thought of it as her home at all.

"Same place." He said stiffly before choking out a goodbye and practically running to the checkout, half of his grocery list left unfulfilled.

He took a long shower after he put away the food, quickly washing and rewashing every inch of his body. When he was finished he steadied himself with his hand leaning hard against the shower wall, eyes following droplets of water down to the ground. He allowed himself a few minutes of remembrance, for everything they had done in here, for every time her back was pressed up against this wall and not even a trace of a frown could be found on his face. The wound hurt like it was new again and his breath was lost like he might never catch it again. His mind ached for some release, the torment of the images proving to be too much, so he focused on the delicate curve of her waist and her sinful hands but sadness snuck into every thought, burning the edges of every memory making them taste bitter and wrong.

When the water ran cold he reluctantly stepped out and slowly rubbed his towel over himself, staring blankly at the wall. He wanted this for so long, the reason that she left, but now as it felt so close all he desired was the will to hear her out. This couldn't continue, he knew, this half-life he lived. He grieved the loss of their life together like it was a real, tangible, thing to lose. More than that, he grieved like it was an actual life lost, not just some delusion he believed could be true. He had never known anything as true or powerful as the love he felt for Emma and if hearing what she has to say would allow for him to move on, maybe he didn't want to listen. Even a half-life would be better than a life without her.

He could call her and cancel, say something has come up and they would just have to do it another time. He still had her number, never having even changed her name back from Duckling. He picked up the phone and his finger hovered over the call button. Maybe he could just keep pushing back their meeting until she left back to Boston, it was summer still but surely school must start for Henry soon. But then he thought of seeing her face and he tossed his phone onto the bed, knowing he would regret it every night until he saw her again.

He spent the reminder of the time pacing back and forth. He paced while getting dressed, he paced while watching T.V., his legs couldn't stop moving. It was an itch that couldn't be ignored, his mind started to scream every time his body stood too still, it needed the motion to stay viable. He wondered if he was going insane, letting someone have this much power over his emotions. But as soon as the thought came it was quickly brushed aside, knowing it was better to love too much than to not love at all.

She came when she said she would, 7:00 on the dot. He wiped his hands quickly on his jeans before opening the door wide for her, a small, but real, smile gracing his face as he let her inside. She smiled back before stepping past him and entering the house that was once theirs. He stood behind her, gulping nervously as he saw her look around his, _their,_ living room.

"You kept it the same." She said simply, no question, no accusation, her tone neutral and her face unsurprised.

"You know I'm not one for decorating." He tried to joke but the air was too heavy, too many words said and left unsaid in this room.

He moved towards the couch, gesturing that she should sit down, before he turned his head back around to look at her. She was standing motionless, eyes caught onto something on the mantle. He didn't need to follow her gaze to know what caught her attention and he cursed at himself for being stupid enough to not take it down. He was not intending for it to sound out loud but once it did it was the only thing that broke her trance, her head slowly turned towards him and giving him a weak smile. She took a few tentative steps towards it, arms reaching upwards to touch it before she was even in range. She walked closely to it, staring at it intently before stroking the glass with a delicate touch, as if her very presence would be enough to shatter it into a million different pieces.

"You kept it? After all I've done to you?" Her voice was small and insecure, and all Killian wanted to do was close the distance between them and envelope her in a hug for she looked like nothing more than a scared child. But he stood frozen in place, her comfort zone not being something he knew anymore.

"Of course." It had never even occurred to him to throw it out.

"Why?"

"Just because you stopped loving me didn't mean that I stopped loving you."

She picked the picture frame up and, through her teary eyes, admired how easy it used to be. It was taken on Christmas Day a few years back, David had been given a camera by Ruby and he decided it was his duty to document every moment that happened. They were pushed together, noses and cheeks touching, as their mouths were screwed upwards in a smile. Their hands were bound tightly together, a tint of red still visible from the snowball fight they had earlier. A cup of cocoa laid on the table and was shared between them, both more than content with their arrangment. They didn't even know the picture was taken until after David handed them a copy of their scrapbook he made.

She placed it back much more gently than needed, "I never stopped loving you." She whispered, eyes still locked onto the photo.

His breath caught in his throat. He waited, one second, wondering if he had heard wrong, two seconds, doubting if he heard right, three seconds, knowing she was wrong, "You _left_ me. You woke up one morning, took everything you had, took Henry, practically took my life, and left. What the _hell_ does that mean?" He wanted to shout, he wanted to cry, but all he could muster was a whisper that delivered nothing but a hint of all the anger and sadness that his last year detailed.

"I know," she sighed, having to tear her eyes away from the photo to look into his, "I'm so, so, sorry for that, Killian, I am. And there's nothing I can say that can make it up to you."

He sighed, feeling everything bubble up in him all at once. He walked backwards until his legs hit the couch and he fell backwards onto it, not knowing how much longer he could have held himself up. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with the heel of them. Slowly, he brought his head up again to find her staring at him.

"Why did you leave?" He asked, voice even though his heart pulsed wildly in his chest and his body began to, ever so slightly, tremble. He wondered that, no matter her excuse, if he could ever truly forgive her. He's always love her, that would be a fact that could never die, but she had torn away his life, his love, his son (or, at least, that's how Killian liked to view him). He wondered if all the love in the world could make up for a year of inflicted misery.

"Every breath I took was for you," She closed her eyes and rolled her head backwards, "I felt an ache in my bones when we parted, no matter how long. You wormed your way into my lungs and my marrow and, god, I was so scared. You would leave me in some way, I thought, maybe not physically but in some capacity and I wanted, want, forever and I didn't know if you could give me that."

He shook his head fiercely as she talked, dumbfounded as to how she could ever, for a second, believe that some part of him at any point in his existence wouldn't want her, wouldn't need her.

"Every time you withdrew from me, every time something bothered you and you didn't tell me, my fear grew. I needed you like I needed air, but I need to know how to breath without you. I needed to know if I _could_ breathe without you, Killian. I would have stayed forever if only I had known you would as well. But I have Henry and I needed to know that I could always be the mother he deserves." She exhaled quickly and lowered her head to look at him, "If I couldn't have breathed without you I would have been wrecked beyond repair."

"So you can, then? Breathe without me?" He asked slowly, the words burning on his tongue. He sat in an almost catatonic state, understanding the words she was saying but not being able to process them.

"Yes and no. It was hard, Killian, the first couple of months was a special brand of pain I didn't even know existed. But, yeah, it got better. It never got easy, but I had Henry and we both know how hard it is to stay upset around him." She offered him a small smile before continuing, "I even tried dating again, meet a guy named Walsh. My life became good again. He even proposed to me two weeks ago."

He couldn't breathe, every word felt as though she had reached into his chest and stabbed his heart. He bleed for their memories, he bleed for their future, he bleed for them. He wanted to cry but no moisture left his eyes. His hands raised to knead through his hair, his fingers latching onto the ends and pulling roughly so he could feel something outside of the spiraling vortex his mind was falling into it.

"I didn't say yes."

His eyes locked onto hers in a quarter of a second, his heart soothing slightly. "Why not?"

"He brought out this beautiful diamond ring on a spinning desert plate," she chuckled but the sound was dry and dull, her head started to shake slightly, "and I stared at it for a minute before I decided that yeah, I wanted this. Then I looked up and I was surprised and _horrified_ that it wasn't your face staring back at me, that it wasn't your face nervously waiting for my answer."

"What are you saying, Emma? You don't get to toy with me anymore, you've hurt me far too much." He knew he was angry now, the sharp jabs of it coursing through his veins, the words spat out with much more power than he felt he even possessed. She broke him and he barely had time to pick up the pieces before she cradled his very existence in her hands again.

"If you still want me, I'm yours. I'm sorry, you deserve far better than what I gave you, but I'm yours forevermore."

When you love someone, you gift them with a certain kind of magic; the ability to tear you apart and the ability to piece you back together. It's unique, that magic, for no one possesses it in quite the same way. Some bring pain far too often, the broken shards of the lover becoming more and more disfigured every time until, one day, they stand before each other being nothing but strangers who pass through in the night. Others try to heal what is not broken, transforming their lover into someone else entirely, into someone that suits their vision. Many don't even touch their magic, preferring instead to focus in on themselves and their desires. Everyone holds that magic in some capacity, yet only a select few know how to use it for good.

But Emma Swan was always a powerful women, capable of the most powerful magic. She tore him apart and put him back together as though it were nothing at all. So he slowly rose off of the couch, his steps towards her still cautious, and kissed her.

It was barely a brush of the lips, the feel of it almost non-existent, yet his lungs still captured the air around him in a way he never thought possible again. He could breathe once more.

Her hand rose shakily to tangle in his hair, "I love you." She whispered against his lips, her heart and his beating in tune.

"I love you too."


End file.
